


There’s no peace for a fighting heart

by pirripipi



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fictional World, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures - Freeform, Post-War, Slow Burn, Traveling, found home trope, late nineteenth century early twentieth aesthetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirripipi/pseuds/pirripipi
Summary: With an obscure past and an uncertain future, the only thing Alexander wants is to built a life there in Rulee, not to find himself crossing three countries with the help of two men he met barely a week ago. But well, things are what they are.°•°•°Or that Anastasia au if Anastasia would have gone to war and were a disaster gay





	1. Prologue 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I've Got A Renegade Heart & It's Screaming Your Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210412) by [Ninyaaaaaaah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninyaaaaaaah/pseuds/Ninyaaaaaaah). 



_**John and Lafayette** _

_Burned wood and gunpowder, the smell fills the air, rises high over the mass of bodies, high enough Lafayette can imagine it reaching for the morning sun._

_He has lead his men there, has told them to keep their ground. They are bigger and they are better than their combatant, but when the battle begins every man is on his own._

_Up in the siege towers their shooters are ready, three whistles in quick succession the only warning their enemy gets before their being wiped out. He shields himself from lose bullets with the man he just slaughtered._

_The enemy strikes back, their shooters up in the trees at the edge of the battlefield he realizes. He ducks, rolls in the ground to not be skewer, rises as soon as he stops hearing any shooting, sweaty and breathless._

_Corpses fill the ground. Wounded soon to become dead too. And with every second they push their enemy farther and farther into retiring. The battle is theirs, as it’s been every battle Lafayette has commanded, and he doesn’t plan to ruin his clear record today, nor specially against an outnumbered poorly armed army._

_This war was doomed since the day it began. Only strategy has keep them going on for so long and if there’s something Lafayette knows is that you can’t only rely on strategy._

_The cry of a horn cuts through the air and he sees the enemy make their leave, frantic as if the devil was after them. This war will be over any day now, he knows._

_Then he hears the roar, up in the sky, high picked and thunderous like nothing he has ever heard._

_The battlefield goes silent. Frozen in time, cold and supernatural. Everyone's’ eyes up. And blocking the morning sun, The Beast._  
_Black like coal, body of a lion and twice as big, wings of a falcon.  
It falls over them like a storm, violent and unstoppable. _

_As he sees it approach in the distance, a path of death in his walking, he learns the true meaning of fear._

_The shooters shot, yet no bullet seems able to stop it.  
They lost the battle that day. One of many._

_°•°•°_

Lafayette wokes up frozen as he always does after that dream. Breathing shallow, heart pounding fast, adrenaline in his veins.  
It takes him a second to realize where he is, to brings himself out of the blood and smoke and fire. Sometimes he wonders if he is ever out. If he deserves to be out.

With watery eyes he stares at the wall, rickety and damp, as his muscles relax. Takes on the humid old room, just a lonely table and two cripple chairs that not even the moonlight can make look beautiful. Feels shame flow all over him as he finally takes on the moldy ceiling, suffering due to the snow outside, until his breathing comes out on even puffs of mist.  
Shame is better than fear.

How could he sink so low?

He wonders as he takes on the smell of putrid wood, the hardness of the floor under his mattress.

How could he let this happen?

He’s sure he’ll be able to move now, but doesn’t. Knows that the wool blankets will burn his skin if he does, for as much as he tries to keep them at bay with his pajama. 

A warm arms embrace him, thumbs circling over his skin on a calming way. Cramped lips kissing his neck as a soft sleepy voice says:

“Bad dreams?”

He can’t answer, can’t trust his voice not to break under the immense sense of failure he is feeling. Puts his hand over his carefully, hoping to let him know he is alright, that he is fine as long as he there, his John. And yet is because he is there that he wants to disappear, anything to scape the shame of not being able to provide, to not being able to give him everything he deserves.

“I'm fine, love” He says instead. Yet he doesn’t turn, squeezes John’s hand harder, and holds him like dear life. Holds him like he is the only good thing he can find in this world. John caresses his skin and kisses his curls. He melts against him.

“It wont be forever” Breathes John on his skin. “We’ll get out of here. It’ll be ok”

And he wants to believe him, has to. With just those words the room feels less humid, the wool less scratchy, the world a bit kinder. Just a bit.

The steady ups and downs of John’s chest lull him to sleep, chase away the ghosts he can’t seem to be able to chase away himself, keeps them locked at the back of his mind where they belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is prologue 1, there will be a second longer prologue to be posted in a couple of days and then I'll move to post one cap every two weeks.
> 
> I was inspired by "If All Is Fair In Love & War, I Can't Do This Anymore" series, with its firt part linked all they way up there. It's pretty cool and it's finished so you should really check it out :D
> 
> Also English is not my first language and I'm doing my best.
> 
> So yeah, prologue 2 to will be up around feb 17. See you then.


	2. Prologue 2

**_Alexander_ **

_“Your excellency, you wanted to see me?” It’s a quiet summer night, the first they’ve had in some time now. There hidden deep in the woods, nothing but the crickets’ song breaking the stillness, it feels like there’s no war. It makes the past days of fleeing and fighting feel like a old dream. It makes their battle seem less hopeless.  
Every soldier that can is taking the chance to rest and the ones that can’t the chance to mourn._

_The battlefield is getting bloodier. They are getting desperate._

_Hamilton approaches Washington's desk with tentative steps, back straight and shoulders rigid._

_“Hamilton, come in.” His voice is softer at these hour of the night, distant as he keeps his eyes fixed on the letter in front of him. There’s bags under his eyes and tension in his shoulders, worry hidden at the corner of his eyes._

_All that Alexander notices as he waits, not knowing what to expect, unable to imagine the opportunity The General is about to offer him.  
To be his right hand man. The Right Hand Man. _

_He doesn’t leave that tent until the moon it’s high and the night watch are the only ones awake. Bright future ahead and only one resolution in his mind:  
They are going to win this war. No. Matter. What._

**_Rulee °•°•° November_ **

Morning comes later and later with each day they get closer to winter. The sun as lazy to rise as anyone else.

Alexander’s breathing is soft, almost imperceptible and the weak light can’t wake him up. A warm body shifts by his side, feels it standing and stretching.  
He is not fully awake yet and he hopes beyond hope that he’ll be able to catch just a bit more of sleep, just a minute or two. It’s a hopeless wish, tho, and he very well knows it.  
When Princess wakes up, he wakes with her.

The heno it’s uncomfortable at best, it pricks him through his clothes in a way he’ll never learn to fully tune out, it gets in his hair and sometimes in his mouth, but he makes do.  
He yaws and turns and stretches lazily his sore limbs, hears his joints pop and breathes deeply Then Princess whips him with her tail and he is completely awake.

“What the hell! Really?” As he begins to shake off his clothes she neights and turns for a pet and he caves. It’s for the best, anyway, he’ll have to leave soon.

The stable door opens and he’s frozen in place, half hidden behind princess, waiting as the steps get closer and closer. It always feels like time stops before a chestnut mane pops over the fence.

“Hey Alex.” Mike says, not as smiley as he usually is. 

“Hey Mike.” They trade places, lets him tend to Princess as he keeps getting straw after estraw out of his old coat.

“How was the night?” Mike asks as he always does, not even looking at him while he works.

“Colder than yesterday” He says. He is been saying that for some time now.

“They say there’s a cold wave coming, gotta keep that in mind.”

“Why should I fear the cold when my favorite girl is here to warm me up” He says petting Princess kindly, all in all she is the reasons he has survived each of these winters.

“Uhm“ Mike agrees, and then says what Alex knows he is been waiting to say since he came in, solemn eyes fixed on him. “You gotta be careful, man. These austerity politics are getting out of hand.” He turns back to Princess and then just like a second thought he adds. “I was asked for my papers yesterday.”

“You? Really?” He is rearranging his scarf, ready to go for the day.

“I may be well dressed, but they don’t care about that anymore. Police is getting rougher each day.”

“Well, I’m getting sneaker.” He smiles as he takes his leave.

“You say that each day!” Mike smiles back.

“And I always come back.” And with a wink he is off.

**_°•°•°_ **

_“Police is getting rougher each day.”_

He knows. With his scarf up his nose, his hair tied tight, he moves from alley to alley, never out in the main streets. The day is as clear as it was the night and he knows soon the pavement will be frozen. Just another thing to be wary off.

He doesn’t face many people in this early hour. And the ones he face are the ones who have a place to be just as much as himself.

He risks a sneak into Market Square. Steals an apple and picks up a newspaper from a nearby bin, then back to the alleys. He doesn’t attempt to read it as he walks down the river to go help the fishermen, to earn a couple badly paid coins and sneak a fish for lunch, probably.

He knows the fishermen, and the fishermen know him. And know that he works well, gives good conversation and only steals what he needs to pass the day. So they always have work for him. Tiresome and very ungratifying work. 

_Today must be a day for worries_ , Alex thinks as he hears the other men talk about the new founding plan for this upcoming year. New cuts on founds for fishing. More workers that’ll have to go. _A day of worries indeed._

By the time police comes asking for papers he has a trout on his bag and one feet down an alley. He runs as soon as he is sure he won’t be seen. 

There’s a manor at the other side of the river, abandoned and defiled, that he has come to call his home. The only home he remember to ever have.  
Big as an sleeping beast, each of his windows are bricked, each of his doors closed. All but for the the back door.  
There’s no beauty left in the house, and Alex is sure it must have been beautiful. Nor the mosaic on the floor, nor the chandeliers on the ceiling or even the paper walls were saved.

He doesn’t care much. On the first floor he starts a fire with yet another bit of wood and cooks his fish the best he has ever known.

There’s little else to do for the rest of the day. Being out is too dangerous these days, so he reads the news paper. Awaits for the night to come and to be safe to go out again.

These are the hardest hours of the day. Harder than working down the deck. Harder than the freezing nights spent by Princess. The hours of quietness and void, when he has to force his mind away from the nagging feeling at the back of his head. The voice that tells him he could be much more, he deserves much more.  
The voice that knows he is a cultured man. How he became cultured is a mystery to him, but he knows, knows things that an uneducated person couldn’t have known.  
Economics and maths held no mysteries to him. Knows books and authors and stories he has no memory of reading. Fragments of a past that scapes him, a past that speaks of higher position, of comfort even.  
A past lived to build a future. 

A past that was his no more.

He is meant for bigger things. He knows. And he repeats that to himself as he tosses half of today's earnings on the hidden closet under the first floor stairs, beneath loose plank.  
Among the cobre coins a single golden medal with a coat of arms. The only thing left of a past he can’t remember.

One day, he’ll be able to buy his papers, a life, a future. And then nothing will stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second prologue down! That's for character introductions, now we'll get to the chapters.   
> If you liked the story so far you can leave a comment, I'd love to know what you think of it. Or you can just leave a kudo if you want to be like "hey I liked the story but I'm not much for talking", that's pretty cool too.
> 
> Next update will be in like two weeks so around march 2


	3. Chapter 3

John finds Lafayette looking out the window when he wakes. 

The covers are warm but his spot in the bed is cold, empty. Sat in one of the two chairs they own he doesn’t seem to realize John has woken up already. He is frowning, his lips pressed on a thin line, a heavy weight on his dim eyes. The morning sun is gentle with him, caresses Lafayette’s cheeks like a lover, paints the snow outside in soft purples and blues. He looks older than he is, more tired than John wishes for him to be. He is deep in thought.

John goes to him with the banklet still over his shoulders, careful not to make a sudden sound. He lets his hands find his hips and so very softly he hugs him good morning.

"I keep forgetting how beautiful the streets are under the snow." John says, looking over Lafayette’s shoulder. Laf hums in answer, enraptured, far, very far away from John.

"Is hard to leave the place you were born behind." John comments as he kisses his shoulder. Then and only then Lafayette looks back at him, a small sad smile in his face.  
John has no way to know, but is at that moment that once again Lafayette is reminded of all the sacrifices John has done to be with him. All the ones he keeps doing. And he marvels that someone exists that loves him so completely. 

"I never dreamed to leave this city behind." Lafayette said, carefully, feeling the words weigh in his tongue. "Now, after all that has happened... I can tell I'll miss it." His eyes are stones, marbled with pain and betrayal, and John holds him closer.

"That's fine." He says. And nothing else.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

He finds Laf staring through that window again after breakfast. As they go to Market Square he catches him always looking around him, trying to memorize every bit of the city. Every building, every shop, every street, every stone. He says he won't miss it but John knows to read between the lines. And each time he end gazing towards to the other side of the river. Always towards the other side of the river.

When he finds him looking through the window next morning, their days in Rulee ticking backward on the clock, he does what he did the day before.

"You should pay a visit. Say goodbye." He murmurs as he kiss his cheek. 

Laf shoulder sink like stones. Defeated and vulnerable between John’s arms he sighs.

"I'm not sure I can."

He looks so small as he says that, lost and fearful, John doesn't want anything else than to protect him.

"If you don't It'll hunt you forever." Lafayette knows he is right as much as he knows he doesn't have the strength to go back there. "I'll go with you." He adds. "I'll wait outside, give you your privacy, just a shout away from you." He kisses the back of his neck and melts against his back. It takes Lafayette all his strength to look away from the street. To look back at john.

"Ok." He says. A shy, grateful smile on his face. "Ok." He repeats as he kisses him, deep and sentimental. "We'll go this evening. I love you".

_**°•°•°** _

The house stands over him like a decrepit monster. Old and lifeless. All colourless walls and dirty window. Wounded and tired, it reminds him of himself.

John is by his side, a hand on the small of his back, an encouraging smile on his lips. He would like to let his confidence fill him, let his encouragement strengthen him, but all he can feel is dread. Can do nothing but remember. How he had everything. How he lost it. How not even the dusty alleys of the city seem to remember it.

The house nothing but a shadow of a different time and so is he.

Yet he takes a step forward. Turns to John and tells him to go find him if he takes to long, god knows what will he find inside. They kiss before he parts.

_**°•°•°** _

Seeing the inside is as soulriping as he thought it would be. And for as much as he wants to go up, see if his old room has been defiled like the hall he is standing in, he waits. Takes on his surroundings. The paintings, the golden finishes, the chandeliers and the mosaic floors. Nothing remains. Not a single trace of the luxury that used to be there. Not a memory of the balls they would give, the dinner parties with their fancy dishes, the cotillons, the music, the warm. Not a trace of the slow sunday mornings, reading by the chimney to his grandmother’s side. If she could see this... 

The memories hunt him under the orange sunset light. The shadows of the house growing as much as his.

He moves around quietly, as to not disturb the ghosts of the past.  
He almost forgets about the hidden closet under the stair. Almost decides not to look inside. But nostalgia is running strong through his veins and he needs to know. Needs to know if it's still there.

_**°•°•°** _

The wood feels humid under his fingers and resists to be opened. The closet smells putrid, so strong it makes him wrinkle his nose. Too dark to see he poke around, careful in his search, and before he finds what he was looking for he finds a loose plank.  
He detaches it out of curiosity and feels nothing but surprise at the money that there’s under. 

Then the floor squeaks.

Lafayette turns fast as lightning, one hand still inside the closet, a man he doesn’t recognize a feet away from him, armed with wood.

They freeze. One second, two. Only silence and shadows to testify of the encounter.

"I assume this is yours." Lafayette comments, as nonchalant as he can be, hand quietly and discreetly still poking around the edges of the closet.

"Step away." Says the stranger, holding the wood higher.

"I assure you I don't mean to steal from you. I'm just looking for something that was mine." There’s sweat going down lafayette’s neck, his hand still searching, his mind measuring his chances against these intruder of his old home.

The man’s patience is running thin, his hands grip the wood tighter and Lafayette knows there’s no more time for him. Nothing but flat wood for his hand to find. Flat wood and dust and then a hilt...

"Step. Awa-"

Lafayette jumps towards him with an agility unexpected of a man his size. Dodges the wood by a hair, kick’s the man’s shin, strikes against his chest and makes him fall. Before he can recover he has a sword pressing under his adam apple. 

There’s a moment where nothing but their laboured breathings fill the room.

"That's-" He croaks, then clears his throat "that's not a real sword." Down in the floor he doesn’t look as dangerous. Disheveled and slightly outraged by how easily has Lafayette taken him down. Scrawny. Poor.

“It's for fencing." He says, then adds. "Still it can hurt badly on knowing hands." The man doesn’t attempt to move, nor does he tear his black, burning eyes away from Lafayette.

Ever so slowly Lafayette steps back to the closet. Kicks the wood far away and then moves the sword to dig on the man’s savings.

"You've managed to make a small fortune." He points out, moving the coins carefully. As their clinking fills the room, the man’s body tenses even more if that’s possible.  
Then he sees the medal. Golden among chopper and silver, a coat of arms he has seen far to many times. It knocks the air out of his lungs better than any punch could have.

It’s just a second. A moment of surprise that makes him lower his guard, but it’s all the man needs to charge against him, stronger than Lafayette would have expected. He pins him down against the cold naked floor, keeps him immobilized with an expertise that speaks of military training. He can't outmatch him like this.

Then there’s the sound of a safe going off.

"Get off him" John’s voice is cold as ever, yet Lafayette couldn’t be happier to hear him.

There’s a pause. Lafayette can not see but he can imagine. He pictures the man seizing John, cavilating, deciding.  
Slowly, ever so slowly, the man lets him go. Hands up, he goes to stand as close to the money as he dares to. Waiting.

John is by his side immediately, gun still raised towards the man.

"It's ok John.”Lafayette is quick to say. “The blame is on me." He turns to face the man, then. "I can imagine it must taken a lot of work to gather all that. I repeat what I said, we don’t mean to steal from you." The man is ever so quiet, intelligent eyes waiting for the smallest of a an opening. "I must ask, tho." Lafayette continues. "Where did you find that medal." 

There’s not a second of pause, no hesitation as the man hisses:

"It's mine."

"Are you sure of that?" An instant. A moment of panic and doubt that crosses the man’s eyes like lightning crosses the sky.

"Positive.” He answers, harsher than ever. "Why do you care?"

There’s an idea at the corner of Lafayette’s minds, theories and conjectures that may or may not lead somewhere.

"I'll tell you so over a glass of wine." Is Lafayette’s answer, and the mans surprise can only be matched by John’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok firts chapter down! 
> 
> As always comments, kudos, both are very much appreciated. And If you already left a kudo and are not much for talking, you can always send a comment with a <3 or a "good job", it'll make my day just as much.
> 
> Next one around march 16 probably


	4. Chapter 4

There were riots on the streets, back in the days were Alexander still hoped there may be someone looking for him in this country he felt so alien in. A family to come back to.  
It was a time of instability, tension and fear and anger vibrating through the air like electricity.

He remembers walking the streets soaked, confused. Remembers the struggle to find shelter. The struggle to find answers. The people rebelating. The police, the yelling and the flags high in the sky. 

The fall of an empire should be an event to treasure, yet Alexander remembers it more like a fever dream.

But he was there, and he has seen things.  
These extrangers, in their good but worn-out clothes, in their careful words and poised manners, he has seen the likes of them before.

And yet he can’t make sense of them.

The shooter is baffled, more so than himself, and that brings some kind of relief to Alexander. The swordsman can’t turn his eyes away from the medal.

_**°•°•°** _

_"What makes you think I'd go."_ Is what he wants to say. _“What makes you think I want anything to do with the intruders of my home”_ But he is defenseless, unarmed and in trouble. He needs a second to breathe. A moment to weigh his options. He closes his eyes and in the second that goes by he decides.

"Where?" The swordsman smiles a smug smile.

"Anywhere on Pivot Street." He answers. It makes sense to Alexander. A decent area, filled with people out for dinner at this hour he is sure.

_**°•°•°** _

He knows what they intend, and he accepts with the resignation of someone that knows he has no better option. Make him leave the house, have someone come as he is gone, take his money, take away the prospect of a better future he has worked so hard for. Hopeless once again.  
Maybe that medal was worth much more than he thought.  
Maybe they were desperate.

Unarmed, undocumented and homeless. They could choose to kill him there and no one will be no one the wiser.

If they were kind enough to spare his life and offer a drink for his misery he’ll have to take it.

"The Black Lion. And I hope that glass of wine will include something to eat."

To his surprise the swordsman accepts.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

It's a tense walk. The air gets colder as the sun goes down and Alexander wishes he didn’t left his gloves up in the second floor.

Neither of the intruders have introduced to Alexander, nor has he. They walk each at one of his sides, their presence claustrophobic.  
The shooter steps are firm, almost rigid and he can’t be much taller nor older than Alexander himself. His eyes are fixed ahead of them and his tense jaw makes Alex wonder if he’d rather have killed him and be done with it. He stays as away from him as he dares.

When they reach _The Black Lion_ they allow him to order for himself. He chooses the second most expensive thing he can find.

Waiting is suffocating.

“I'm afraid we have not been properly introduce.” The swordsman says as soon as he is been served. "My name is Gilbert." He offers him a hand Alexander decides to shake, the purpose of this charade scaping him. 

"Alexander." He turns to the shooter and offers his hand. He takes it with reticence.

"John."

With a nod Alexander begins to eat. The stew is still too hot, yet the burning grounds him. The meat is tender, the potatoes soft and he realizes just now how hungry he has been for anything other than fired cooked fish. 

He is not expecting nor really wanting any kind of conversation.

"That medal," Lafayette begins slowly, he has not touched his food yet and Alexander would be annoyed at him for letting it get cold in any other circumstance. "You said it was yours."

He doesn’t finish his bite, lets the spoon sink back. John stops eating as well.

"You seem awfully interested on that old thing." He comments like is nothing, his back straight, his hands coming to rest at either side of the table very slowly, ready for a quick scape.

Lafayette must have noticed. He softens his voice, relax his posture as to look not threatening and sheepishly smiles back at Alexander.

"I am." He admits. "I've seen it before, once, on the chest of a Shikaal general."

There’s something off in the way he says it, overcasual, and if it wouldn’t have been such a bloodfreezing moment maybe Alexander would have notice too. All eyes are on Lafayette and Alexander can taste nothing but fear in his tongle.

"We are not with the police." Lafayette adds quickly, but what reason could Alex have to believe him. He sighs but there's something theatrical to it. "I have began this conversation so very wrong." He complains. "I apologize."

If he expected Alex to say anything he is going to be very disappointed.

"I'm an historian." He lies, and prays John is willing to trust him on this. "We both are. We have been trying to put together the missing pieces of The War. Have been interviewing with dozens of soldiers, sometimes from shikaal even, but we've never had the chance to talk to a high ranking official itself. This is what this meal is all about." 

Alexander can smell lies, doesn't even have to look at John's quite lost demeanor to recognise it. He just can’t put his finger of the reason for it and curiosity has always gotten the best of him.

"It's going to be a very disappointing meal for you I'm afraid." He says.

"Why is that so?" John asks for the first time.

"Whatever you are about to ask I have no memory of it." He answers and drinks.

_**°•°•°** _

They can’t get a clear answer out of him and Alexander doesn’t make a single effort to help them. But as Lafayette loses more and more interest, John does quite the opposite.

“So you have no clue who your superior officer was?” Lafayette tries to press, has passed long ago the point of frustration. Alex would be lying if he said he is not enjoying himself.

“I really can’t recall.” 

“Maybe you could try.”

“Maybe I could, but that would bring me nothing but a headache.” He says as he takes the lasts bites of his meal.

“Where?” John’s voice is amicable and interested.

“Where what?” 

“Where do you feel the headache?“ He bites on his fork absentically, eyes fixed on him.

Alex can’t say he is not taken aback.

“Umh, behind the eyes? And on the back of the head, usually”

“The temporal lobe… and the hippocampus. Of course.” John mutter to himself, takes a bite of his own plate and keeps asking. “Do they happen often? It’s not only while remembering isn’t it.”

Alex remains quite, tense and unmovil he seizes John all over again, sees him with new eyes, wonders. Wonders about that conviction in his voice. The certainty behind his eyes. Wonders If maybe he really understands.

He is temp to ask. If maybe it’s the same for him, if he is chased in his dreams by the ghost of people he is sure he has never met too. If certain smells bring him emotions impossible to understand. If he is assaulted with flashes of things he is sure has never lived. If he has somehow figured out the way to make sense of it all. 

But he doesn’t, and John apologizes for asking in the first place, and they eat in silence before he excuses himself to the bathroom, jumps through the window and goes back home. Sure that whoever that went to steal must have finished his job already.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

John stays silent long after Alexander leaves the table, chin in hand, eyes still fixed at the door he went through.

“This could be exactly what we needed." He says with a dangerous edge of excitement.  
Lafayette doesn't even bother to look away from his meal.

"I wouldn't be so happy. For what we know he could have just stole that medal from who knows who."

“I think he is telling the truth. It makes sense, memory loss is not uncommon among soldiers.”

That catches Lafayette interest, even if just a bit, and he asks:

“What are you thinking?”

_**°•°•°** _

Their original plan was simple if risky. Leave. As soon as possible, as far as they can. Leave the home that saw Lafayette grow and turned it’s back to him so selfishly. Leave before police realizes he is still around here, that he didn’t make it to the train station that cold night of december. Built a new life, somehow. Besides John. Always besides John.

The one that John is proposing now… 

“It crazy.” He says at lack of better words.

“Maybe. But think about it, he is a Shikaal soldier-”

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

“He has the medal.”

"The medal will mean nothing when they won't find him in their archives."

"You _can't_ know that!” There's an edge of frustration in his voice, then a pause. "It could be our chance for a better life.” It’s nothing higher than a whisper, almost a plea, and it stings Lafayette’s heart hard.  
A better life. The life they deserve. The life _John_ deserves. There’s nothing he would not do to bring him that kind of life. And yet.

"That is assuming he's willing to make a deal." He drinks the last of his wine. A toast to his own surrender. 

"He doesn’t have much to loose." John drinks as well.

"And be willing to keep it." 

John sighs, his eyes more tired than ever, and Lafayette wishes for the ability to chase all his troubles away. He goes to take his hand on his, caresses the underside with his thumb, trying to bring him as much comfort as he can.

"Sometimes you need to have some faith in people."

It’s not the first time he has told him that. Nor it’ll be the last. Time goes by. John closes his eyes.

“He just escaped through the bathroom window didn't he?” He says.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

It's not until two days later than Lafayette and John return to the house, sky grey with clouds and it's silhouette as haunting as Lafayette remembered.

The door is not as easily opened as the last time, but they push through whatever Alexander has decided to block the door with. 

There's little light left and the inside is colder than last time.

"You again?!" Alexander's voice runs through every corner of the house, reverberates up in the ceilings and comes back as a distant echo. Up at the edge of the stairs in the second floor, he holds a poker this time and he doesn't set it down when he says “Wasn't I clear last time?”

"We only want to talk" answers John, palms up, eyes pleading even if Alexander can’t possibly see them from up there. Lafayette rises his arms as well, more reluctantly.

With a pause that feels longer than it really is Alexander finally lets the bar down.

"What about?”

_**°•°•°** _

He offers them a place by the fire, a nicesty that Lafayette wasn't expecting. They go up the stairs, stiff step after stiff step, the shadows even deeper up there, haunting. Right by the fire Alexander’s face looks like an apparition.  
He makes sure to sit as close as possible to John, and as far away from Alexander. The big cold house with it's nacked walls does little to stop the air outside, it cares his cheeks softly, and maybe it’s the house’s own way of welcoming him back.

He tries not to look around, tries not to fix his gaze on the second door to the right, his old room, black and hollow. On the ripped wood and wallpaper that he has not doubt have been used to feed fires like this. He tries not to think at all, leaves the talking to John and hopes for this to be over soon.

"We have a proposition." John says without preamble. Not the way Laf would have done that, but he wouldn't have done this at all. 

The fire dances, crackles, makes Alexander’s eyes look sharper, more severe as he says:

"I'm all ears."

"You are a Shikaal soldier. You have no papers and no home and it's a matter of time before someone decides to check in here." His words are certain, his eyes serious. "As things are right now, you have no place in this country." Cold. Freezing shock and then a fire so wild on Alexander’s eyes he truly fears for their well being.

"Who do you think-"

"Neither do we." John doesn’t blink, doesn’t let his gaze down, his shoulder square, his chin up. Lafayette could have fallen in love with him all over again.

The silence that follow is heavy, thick and if they let it linger for much longer it will choke them to death.

"What do you mean?" There’s no pity in his voice, only distrust and bitterness.

"Tell him." They agreed to this and they agreed to do it these way, yet Lafayette can’t stop himself for sighing. Can’t stop himself for wishing to not have do this at all.

"I'm the owner of this house. Use to be, at least, before the war.” He feels sick on his stomach, his throat tight “I was a member of The Court of the Queen."

Alexander says nothing. They wait. The fire dances.

"You were a nobleman.” It’s an affirmation that feels like an accusation.

"I was."

"Then your head has a price." He points out astonished, yet not scared. "And yours," he points at John next. "For hiding a criminal is considered treason." He looks at them like he can't quite believe this is happening at all. "What do you want?" He aks finally.

"To leave." Says Lafayette.

"And we have a plan." Adds John

"And what good does to tell me?" There’s no missing the edge of frustration in his voice, the sharp movement of his hands as he speaks.

"Because we want you on board." John’s voice is self assured and firm and it leaves Alexander at a total loss.

"Excuse me?" 

"You were a Shikaal soldier, a high ranked one if the medal is anything to go by. Which means that back in your home you’ll have a lifelong juicy payment waiting for you. You'll have a place to live in and papers, real ones." Alexander buries his hands in his pockets, turns his eyes to the wall at his right. "When we'll leave this country we'll have nothing but limited money. No papers, no shelter, no nothing." Lafayette takes his hand on his on reflex, tries a fails to chase away the apprehension that has settle on every trait of John’s face.

“Has it never crossed your mind?” Lafayette asks. “To leave?”

"So what are you suggesting?" He is still not looking at them, eyes on the wall, deep and defensive.

"That we team up. We help you get out of here, you help us get on our feet in Shikaal. Gives us a place to live and something to eat until we can do that for ourselves."

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

_“Why should I believe you?”_

His voice is firm and distant, even if his insides are turning and burning. Even if his heart is beating fast and his mind is on fire. _To leave_. And isn’t that what he wanted? A thousand years ago. Back when he had still hopped for a home. Back when he has still wondered for the past that seems to still elude him. For a name that he can say with certainty that’s his. Answers. Just answers.

It burns. The flame of hope that has been dying through all these years, unattended and forgotten under his daily need to survive. Or maybe are just the tears behinds his eyelids.

Either way he had thought he moved on from all these questions, but maybe it was resignation all along. Resignation to work with what he was given and to make the best of it. There’s bravery on that. But now he has been presented with something new, an opportunity he didn’t have before. And maybe there’s still the chance. For a home to go back, for a place to belong, for a family to have, for a future to exist.

“We thought you’d ask.” Says Lafayette and gives a folded paper to him. "We’re risking a lot by telling you this."

"No, you aren't." He takes the paper but doesn’t spare it a glace before he continues. "If I chose to go with the tale to the police I'll end detained too, and you know it. Even if I decided to send someone else you can as easily sell me. Best case scenario I'm out of here before they come and I lose everything." 

He can’t tell from either Lafayette’s and John’s expressions if he has exposed their little charade or if they sincerely didn't thought about it, but as far as he knows he is going to choose the first. "What is this for?" He asks, for the first time scanning what has been given to him. 

“A contract.” Says Lafayette.

“I can see that.” The paper is crisp new, the handwriting beautiful and clear, black ink barely dried, and the wording unprofessional at best.

“A guarantee.” Says John. “Something that’ll bound us all to fulfill our part.”

He doesn’t even bother to look up as he says.

“A contract signed without a juridical witness present is not vinculatory” It’s the way he says it, rather than what he says, what leaves Lafayette and John spellbound. Like he has said it a thousand times before and then another thousand just to make the words well worn in his mouth.

He folds it up again, trucks it in his inner pocket and stands. John and Lafayette follow suit. With both his hands clasped at his back he says: 

"Come back in three days and you'll have your answer"

As he shows them the door he decides. He’ll have to make some inquiries.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

He asks the fishermen first thing next morning, as casually as he can, what did happen to the bellowing of the ones from The Court of the Queen.

The question falls like ice on cold water.

There’s this thing he has learnt the hard way there in Rulee. You don’t talk about the past.  
Still the fishermen answer him, pretending really hard like the thing they’re talking about wasn’t important at all as they moved barrel of fish after barrel of fish from the boats to land.  
Most of it was sold, just as he suspected. The government really needed the money back then. 

The Orte Museum has the rest.

He visits the public bathrooms that same day, dresses in the only change of clothes he currently owns and takes extra care to make his coat look presentable. It’s a very risky move to go that same afternoon, but he is running out of time and on Sundays entrance is free. 

There’s so much life trapped in there, so many people moving and talking he barely stands out, and he wonders why it never occurred to him to go visit before.

You may not talk about the past, there in Rulee, but the past was certainly talking there in between those clear walls. Tales of a past of wealth and prosperity and riches. Of pride and power. 

The Court of the Queen was barely given a place in there. Portraits and bust treasured here and there, on dusty corners and side rooms.  
It’s in one of those that he finds a background familiar to him. 

The painting is enormous and it displays the entrances of his home in a glory he couldn’t have ever imagine. It disturbs him deeply.

On the wall at his right there’s the portrait of a couple, regal and untouchable, in what he recognises as his summer room in the second floor.  
The bust of a old lady. A carped sewn in purple and chopper and gold.

At the darkest corner of the room, a step away to be forgotten, the portrait of a young man. Brown eyes and plump lips and hair tied up high in his head. Lafayette. He might have not recognised him wouldn’t have he been looking for him. His posture relaxed, his smile soft, his eyes kind.  
It must be almost ten years old and Alexander strongly suspects it was done right before the war. Under the painting a plaque that reads _“Marqués de La Fayette”_

“Well I’ll be damned” says Alex as he strokes the contract safe in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some changes in the summary bc this story wasn't getting that much attention. Also I think I kind of overdid it with the tags the first time so if there's any big warning I'll say so at the beginning of the chaper.
> 
> I'm really proud of how this one turned out!
> 
> As always kudos, comments with your thoughts, comments that are just a cute heart or whatever other thing you came up with are very much appreciated :D
> 
> Also next chapter will be around March 30


	5. Chapter 5

It has been snowing for days, softly but relentlessly each night, the streets outside so quiet they could be a picture, the sun beginning to rise.

Lafayette is awake. So is John, hunched once again over their traveling plan, a blanket over his shoulders and a frowns in his face.

"We’ll have to pack just what's necessary, we'll be traveling a lot by foot and the extra weight won't do us any good. And we'll have to watch our money even more now, a new addition will leave us on an even tighter situation than before." He talks to himself, always does when worried.

Lafayette puts down the shirt he was folding. Everything they had to sell is sold and the place has never looked starker. It’s going to be a long week, he realizes, followed by a thousand of even longer ones, yet his chest feels light.  
He goes to John, rests his chin over his head and his hands on his shoulders.

"We still have to buy the supplies, and we are yet to know exactly how much those papers are gonna cost." John keeps saying, keeps worrying and worrying.

"How can you be so sure he'll come?" Laf asks softly, kisses his temple.

That stops John’s mutering, not abruptly, not sharply, he looks up at Lafayette and says:

"He had a look on him.” It feels like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how, so he doesn’t.

"Ambition. I noticed." 

"That too." John agrees, but doesn't clarify as he goes back to work. The city is starting to wake and they'll soon have their answer.

_**°•°•°** _

_Finding The Beast is their mission. Killing it their priority._

_Tables have turned._  
_The rebels, relentless and bold, embust them at any given chance. Steel their provisions, win over cities that shouldn’t have fallen.  
They are still stronger than them, more numerous, more powerful, yet they are far from winning._

_The beast, Lafayette realizes, is like a ghost. He tries and fails to track it down, so many times facing his superiors with his head held high turns to be a difficult task. Not a single trace, not a hair, not a feather._

_He dreams, night after night, of woods and night skies and shadows evaporating against snow. And his grandmother’s eyes, high in the sky looking down at him._

_News about the turn the war has taken reach outside their frontiers, and the enemies of the empire take an interest.  
Irema allies with the rebels, brings them soldiers a provisions to help them through the winter. Irecu lends them armament, and by the end of the year the empire army is not so much more numerous or powerful._

_Their beast fights only their biggest battles and in every big battles there’s Lafayette and his men. Three times he has encountered it and three times he has survived. Three times he has failed is only mission._

_Up in the sky his grandmother's eyes._

_The new year begins and no one of them feel any more hopeful._

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

He reads the contract once, then twice, then paths the room up and down like a caged animal. Up and down. Up and down.

_“Has it never crossed your mind? To leave?”_

It’s risky. It’s crazy. It may end with all of them rotting in jail if they are not careful. 

_If_ they are not careful.

He goes down the stairs. The medal shape is burnt behind his eyelids, shinny and golden and red. It sings to him, reminds him of a self he has no memory of, a self canny but not cautious. Reckless but calculating. Fire and smoke and a mission greater than any man.

The headache is not unexpected but very unwelcome and with a sick stomach he reads the contract again.

_**°•°•°** _

_It’s a thankless work the one he does._

_Thankless and tiresome, too many hours of the night spent writing and too many hours of the day planning and moving. His body is exhausted, as ready to give up as their army of rebel is. Burr begs him to take a break, in that nonchalant way of his. Reminds him to go sleep when there’s been to many hours of working and to eat when he is to focused to care._

_In their weird friendship, cold to an outsider eye, they care for each other. They rely on each other. Bloody day after bloody day, they fight and they work and they keep going._

_Everybody needs a friends. Specially on the battlefield. And with Hercules away behind enemies grounds and Theodosia commanding miles away he has not many of those left._

_No one of them has._

_They are out of resources, supplies are running short, and soon The General will eventually run out of ideas._

_They need help. They need a miracle. And they need it soon._

_And he thinks… he may have one._

_**°•°•°** _

Form the moment he wakes up that morning there’s a feeling on Lafayette’s nape, it makes his hair bristle and his skin crawl. John has long left to work, his spot in the bed cold and empty, and the room is more shadow than light.

He walks alone down the streets, face hidden under a thick scarf, shoulders heavy. It’s a sunny morning as it was a clear night and the pavement is frozen and slippery.  
Not many people are going over the river.  
In the distance he sees the fishermen work.

He doesn’t come close to the house just yet, doesn’t dare. 

There’s a century old surveillance tower by the exit of the bridge with only it’s stone stairs left. It hasn’t aged a day, hasn’t changed a bit from Lafayette’s memories and it bring a feeling of solace to his heart he didn’t realized he was missing.  
One by one he climbs the steps. Step by step he rejuvenates. There was a time he could see the whole word from up there. Now, as he reaches the top and waits, there’s only blue and green rooftops and the dark river in between.

He turns to the house and waits.

_**°•°•°** _

He spots John before John spots him. Nothing but a elongated shadow under the setting sun. His hands are freezing and his feet are numb. It takes him a while to get down the stairs.

“How long have you been up there?” Is the first thing that John asks him. There’s worry in his eyes much like always these days and Lafayette takes his hands on his and fails to warm him up.

“No one entered nor left the house that I could see.” He answers. “I can’t tell if that’s good news.”

“We’ll have to come and see then.” Is not a plan Lafayette likes, there’s not fingers in both hands to count the times he has regretted their decision to meet back there. Or to meet at all.

Yet there they are.

The house, a big black dying animal, awaits for them. There’s no light inside. No noise.  
The feeling at the back of his head grows stronger, sets him on edge and makes him remember his grandmother.

The door opens easily and the house remains as hollow as it was last time. The same silence, the same shadows. He brings a hand to his nape and scratches. Hard.

Hand in hand they walk inside, stop at the edge of the stairs they don’t dare to climb. Before any of them can make their presence known Alexander appears at the top, rises a hand and begins to climb down to them. It’s Lafayette’s house yet it feels like he is the one that owns it.

"He didn't turn us in." John whispers.

“Don’t claim victory just yet.” Lafayette replies. “Have you made your choice?” He ask loud and clear. 

Alexander path doesn’t falter, slow and deliberate he comes to stand toe to toe with them both. His posture is firm, his chin held high. He returns the contract to John in a fluid movement.

He studies them both. John starts to read.

“I want a say over the money management and traveling plan in every situation” He begins looking right into Lafayette’s eyes, defiant and haughty. "Same rights regarding sleep, transportation, food, health and cloth. And" he adds with enfasis “I'll be present during the papers exchange. Each one of my conditions are written over the old contract, as you can read." He finishes, refuses to look away. Nor does Lafayette as he says:

“A contract signed without a juridical witness present is not vinculatory” 

Alexander smiles at that, sharp.

"But it's all we have." He pauses and with aplomb he adds "I reserve myself the right to walk away if any of the terms is violated."

“I see.” Says John, that has finished reading. "Here you say that full agreement is needed before approving on a traveling plan?" 

"I won't risk a democratic system when it's two of you and one of me."

He hums and goes back to the contract, asks for a moment of privacy with Lafayette. 

They go to what’s left of the dinning room and Lafayette’s eyes can’t leave the empty, naked hole that used to be the fireplace.  
In the worst nights of winter, his grandmother will read to him there.

“He is asking for equal partnership, in rights and duties.” John tells him. "He is investing his own money too. I think his conditions are razonables."

John can’t know but there’s snow and fire playing behind Lafayette’s eyes. He takes the contract in hand a reads it himself. Thinks. The feeling in his nape turns to an unpleasant iching. "I still don't trust him, but I trust you." 

When they walk back they do hand in hand.

"Do we have a deal?" Alex asks, he has not moved an inch.

Laf and John look to each other.

"We do." And with that they shake hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but our boys are finally working together!
> 
> I know these previous chapters have been very Alex and lafayette focused but John will have the spot light soon too.
> 
> As always kudos, long comments, short comments, all are nice and cool and make my day.
> 
> Next chapter should be around April 13, see ya.


	6. Chapter 6

It's not what Alex pictured. Alone by the fruit stand he every other day steals from, the winter sun still rising in the sky and the streets slowly and steady coming alive. 

He pictured an empty alley at the death of the night. But he also pictured a stormy night and someone in a long black coat, so he maybe has gotten that out of a book.

The week that has gone by has been both too long and not long enough. Getting his business in order, sell what he could, say his goodbyes. 

That last part turned out to be harder than he thought.  
Mike cried the morning he told him, grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him tighter than his spine could stand. Princess nuzzled him, tried to chew his hair like she did those very first times he came to sleep by her side and it felt like a farewell. Before he knows it he is teary too, heart equal parts heavy and grateful. 

They went have dinner at Mike's that night. Fish and buttery potatoes he didn’t let Alex help to make. He sat the table in the main room that works both as livingroom and bedroom. 

It was a nice evening. So nice it reminded him of how long it's been since he had one like this. They drank and they ate and they talked and they laughed.

Alexander is not a trusting man. He doesn't get into details with Mike, but he tells him more than he would tell any other soul. Tells him what he hopes and what he fears even if only in passing. And Mike, used to him as he is, understands.

“You better write.” He says with a finger pointed at Alex. 

He didn’t bother telling the fishermen, doesn’t think they’ll wonder for long about him.

Now he is on edge, as he begins to realise that there's a real possibility for these to go terribly wrong. Tries not to tap his feet on the ground. Tries not to walk around and shake his legs. Tries to remain unseen as he gets ready to bolt. 

It feels like a thousand of years have come and gone before Lafayette and John appear at the end of the street, nothing but two silhouettes calmy approaching. 

They stop by his side and greet him like old friends and everything about it feels wrong. The air is cold and the seller looks at them one time too many for Alexander not to be on high alert. He awaits the noise of military coordinate strikes to come from any corner now.

Finds instead soft light steps. 

There’s a girl coming towards them, not older than eleven. With a firm strike and determinate eyes. She has a basket in one hand and the other grasped around the front of her too big too old fur coat. 

Alexander can’t tell what makes him notice her. She buys her fruit and passes a bit to close by their side.

"This way." Her path doesn’t falter, she doesn't turn back to make sure she is being followed. Alexander nudges John to follow, confident now that they are finally moving.

_**°•°•°** _

She takes them to an old yet well conserved two stores sweet shop . Beautifully decorated, colorful when most of the building down the street are just plain wood.  
Alexander resolve falters as they come in. The smell of lemon and vanilla fills the place but is the faintest trace of canela that brings him back somewhere. Brings him to a very different place than this, with bright walls and geometric shapes and the sound of boiling milk.  
It makes his head hurt and a logging he didn't knew he could feel to settle down in his stomach.

"I brought you your customers" the girl says as he leaves the basket on the counter. An old woman sits there, affable face and glassy eyes and no, this is definitely not how Alex imagined this.

Lafayette is the one that takes a step forward. Stands tall and a little bit awkward in the cozy store. The sunrise light goes through the window and makes everything golden.

"Good day, my good woman." He begins.

"Good day to you too, my good boy. My dear suzy says you're my customers?" The girl has disappeared under the counter in search of something Alex hopes won’t be a knife.

"I hope so, yes." Lafayette responds, and then just a slightly bit unsure says. "We had an order."

"Suzy, take care of the store for a second, my dear." She says and the girl obeys. "This way." 

They follow her to the backstore.

_**°•°•°** _

"They are one of my finest jobs, I have to say." She begins, reaching for a wooden box inside a steel coffin. "Fine grain paper left to naturally yellow for a couple of months. Soft cian covers, raised seal so detailed you can feel every last bird, just like the official one. A coffee drop here, a folded sheet there, it gives authenticity! The empress signature, mimicked to perfection, my dear suzy has a special talent for it, you see. Each one is unique, personal, and sixty four thousand seelars."

John makes a pained face and begins to scrap his pockets.

"Twenty thousand." Alex says without batting an eye. 

There's a second when the room falls silent, air still, electric, then the woman's eyes pierce him with a spark that wasn't there before.

"Twenty thousand!" She exclaims. "Sixty four thousand seelars, that's my price."

Alexander has to put a hand on John's shoulder to stop him from paying.

"And twenty thousand is ours." 

"You don't want me to eat!" She says walking towards him, waving the passports in his face. "These are pieces of art! Look at them, fine work where you can find it."

"We have a long journey ahead!" He retorts. "Sixty four thousand is just insane."

"Are you calling me insane, boy?"

"Not at all." He takes a long hard look at the papers. "They are indeed beautifully done. Maybe we could agree on twenty five?"

"No one would do this for the misery of twenty five. I could be convince over sixty."

"Twenty nine and we won't take anymore of your time."

"Don't worry about my time, boy, worry about my wallet. Fifty four.”

"Thirty two and a kiss on each cheek." Says Alexander with a playful smile.

"Your kisses won't feed me! Fourty eight and you help me bring out the oven the next roll of pastries."

"Thirty four and we are yours for the day."

The woman stop to consider before extending her hand. 

"Thirty nine and you've gotten yourself a deal." Only once the payment is done she smiles. "My goodness! I haven't had a bargain like that since before the war." And before anyone can add anything she says. "Off to the kitchen! Those pastries will be ready any minute now."

_**°•°•°** _

“Those will need to be out in the next five minutes boys, run!”  
Chaos. That’s what the kitchen is. Organized chaos and constant movement and noise, so much noise. Lafayette holds to his given whisk for dear life as people move around him, trays held high in the air. Just mixing and mixing until his arm hurts. There’s only one thing he hopes for and it’s for this meringue to go all right.

At the far right of the kitchen Alexander is arguing with the puff pastry again, squatting and losing it in front of the oven for the second time already. The chef scolts him again and the rest of the kitchen crew, that weren’t so eager to work with them at the beginning, can't stop laughing.

John is the only one of them that is almost managing. Runs up and down the kitchen like a mad man, ponytail undone, balancing one tray on each hand and almost tripping over Alexander in his way by the ovens. 

Alexander is banned from baking. 

They have him kneading for the rest of the day. Under his breath he swears at the dough in a language Lafayette doesn’t know.

John tries to take the place of the chef in three different occasions and of the sous-chef in two. The kitchen crew refers to him as faux-chef for the rest of the day.

Around midday Lafayette finds himself helping to chop the fruit, and to his own surprise he is alright at it. He manages to get away by doing so until the kitchen closes.

After so much activity cleaning everything down is almost soothing.

They are ready to leave when Yagoda, the owner, stops them.

"Hold in there!" She says. Grabs three of the ugliest pastries she has ever seen and puts each one in their hands. "No way I would get them sold anyway." Then her eyes soften, her posture relaxes and she smiles. “You’re from Shikaal, aren’t you?” She says to Alexander. “I noticed the moment I saw you, no one here knows the art of bargaining around here. I am shikaali too, came way before the war, never got the chance to return.” There's a sadness in his voice that John understands far to well. “Have a nice trip. Follow the crows. Take care.” And with that she pats his shoulder and goes back into the backstore.

_**°•°•°** _

As soon as they turn the corner John is over him, an arm around his shoulders and a finger pointing at his chest.

“I can't believe you did that!” He exclaims, smiling wide.

“It just felt natural.” He has to look aside to hide the small smile that has creeped to his lips.

_**Rulee °•°•° November** _

To Lafayette the next evening arrived both too soon and not soon enough.  
Too many complicated emotions. Too close to drown him.

This city, the one that saw him grow, that raised and persecuted him. The one his whole family was buried in. The one he won't.  
He'll never see this place again, for better or worst.

_**°•°•°** _

The wind was merciful as Alexander strode through market Square, a small goodbye gesture he liked to think.

The stores were closing and the clouds were dyed on soft yellows as the sun went down. He still had time, his things hidden on the secret closet that had only failed him once.

The city looked anew. The tall chimneys. The wooden walls. The wardens. The port. The river. Everything shined under the dying of the winter sun.

_**°•°•°** _

_Wet, sore and cold Alexander can't even stand on his feet as he crawls out of the water. It's summer and it's morning and he is naked. The shore pebbles hurt his knees. He feels like throwing up._

_He can't tell where he is nor how he got there. He can't tell where he came from nor who he is._

_He can't remember and that realization makes it impossible to breathe.  
Panting and shivering he struggles to sit down, holds himself on an embrace and tries to breathe, just to breathe. Only then he notices the collar around his neck, the medal attached to it, heavy and grounding. _

_One single name scratched by knife at the back. **Alexander.**_

_**°•°•°** _

"He won't come." Lafayette says as they both sit at the inn.

"Don't." It's all John responds. He is getting tired. For as much as he loves Lafayette, as much as he knows what a hard time he is having, he is just… tired. Can't really avoid when things rub him the wrong way. And all this doubt, all the empty complaining is getting to him.

Seeing Alexander came through the door brings a new wave of confidence he didn't realize he needed.

_**°•°•°** _

Alexander is... Enthusiastic. A perfectionist and overthinker. And he doesn't even wait for drinks to be served before he begins to plan.

To say Lafayette was impressed with the pages and pages of notes and routes and plans he wrote in the short time of a week would be an understatement. It was overwhelming.

It doesn't take long for Alexander earnestness to get to John. Together the work and argue all in all Johns mood brightens.

He is glad for that. Knows this last weeks have not been easy on John and he has not made it easier. He hates holding him back, but finds impossible for him to show the enthusiasm and confidence John so much needs.

He doesn't trust Alexander, but is relieved to travel with someone that can compensate his shortcomings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are 1/4 down! I loved to write Yagoda character and her conversation with Alex.
> 
> Anyway I'm going to put this story on hiatus probably for a couple of months at the very least, since I'm not going to have much free time.
> 
> Also I need to clarify that neither of the imaginary places I've come up with is a representation of in real life places/cultures, since I don't have the knowledge nor the resources to be able to make an accurate description of them.


End file.
